Love and Hate
by catsncritters
Summary: As Told By Ginger SLASH - The Lucky Jr. High Spring Dance falls on April 1st, and Carl is determined to prank Blake. Complete.
1. Huh?

Love and Hate

**Author**: Adrienne Wolter (catsncritters)  
**Summary**: The Spring Dance for Lucky Jr High falls on April first. While Carl and Hoodsey are determined to play a prank on Blake, Ginger mopes in her recent breakup with Darren.  
**Rating**: PG  
**Warnings**: _SLASH_, as in a male/male relationship. This is slashiness between Carl and Blake. Not your cup of tea? Press the back button!  
**Reviews**: are appreciated, but not required. (Psst... but hey... more reviews would inspire me to continue more quickly... *flashes winning smile* Lemme know what you think, kay? I'm not the best ATBG writer out there, but I try.) :D

Hewlo! *Waves to readers* Not much to say about this one, just let me know what you think. : )

Chapter 1

The Spring Dance. This year, it fell on April first, a week later than usual. Carl was focused on this, and it was getting to Hoodsey's nerves.  
"We have the opportunity to do pranks on the entire _school_," Carl told him again and again. "We only need to find the perfect prank, Hoods!"  
"Carl," Hoodsey muttered, letting his head fall to the Foutley's table in frustration. "You know what would really surprise them?"  
Carl looked up, clearly interested. "What?"  
Hoodsey looked up at him with an annoyed expression. "If we didn't do _anything_ for April Fools' Day."  
"But what's the fun in that, my friend? Some of them might not even _know_ what day it is during the dance!"  
"So?"  
Hoodsey had been trying to do math homework for the past twenty minutes, and had finished half of one problem.  
Ginger and her friends walked through the kitchen, chattering about something. Carl watched Ginger getting their mom to sign the permission form out of the corner of his eye, staring offhandedly at his homework. Something about estimating the amount of food needed for a cage of monkeys.  
Monkeys... food... he supposed he could put something in the punch, but it wasn't spectacular enough. Maybe he could play a prank on Ginger and her friends, or the teachers... or Blake. Yes. Blakey-boy. That would be fun to do.  
Hoodsey eyed Macie as she went up the stairs, having forgotten about his homework again. Only Carl talking brought him out of this momentary period of head-in-the-clouds syndrome.  
"We could do something to Blake," Carl said, staring at the calendar for inspiration. He wasn't finding any.  
"Like what?" Hoodsey whined, glancing at the steps one last time before turning back to Carl.  
"That's what I wanted you to tell me," Carl said, head dropping onto a hand as he considered doing his homework for the first time.

Carl and Hoodsey sat on Carl's bed and watched TV, still trying to figure out a good prank, having nothing else to do. Besides, in Carl's own words, the sooner they could think of a prank, the more time they'd have to work on it.  
"I need to think of a good prank to play on Blake... something to embarrass him in front of all of Lucky Jr. High...."  
Hoodsey stayed silent, watching the television.  
"We need an _idea_, ugh. I wonder if he's actually going to the dance...."  
"What, you're just going to walk up to him and ask, 'hey Blake, are you going to the dance on Tuesday?'"  
Carl choked on his soda and glanced at his friend. "Um... no, I think I'll just watch him, see if he turns the permission slip in."  
Hoodsey grinned at his quick response and nodded. "Yeah. But then you'll need to get a permission slip for yourself too, you know."  
"Oh yeah. Well, I can do that tomorrow."  
There was a loud yell from downstairs. "Hoodsey, your mother wants you home!"  
"Seeya Carl." After the door was shut again, Carl lay back in his bed and looked at the patterns of plaster on the ceiling. It was definitely going to be hard figuring out if Blake was going to the dance or not. Hoods was right, too; it wasn't exactly as if he could just ask him casually. He wondered why he cared so much to be thinking about it when dinner was probably on the table.  
"Any time now, Carl!"  
He gave a short laugh at his correct guess and left his room.

April the first fell on a Friday this year.  
The dance was announced eight days before it was scheduled to be held.  
One day had passed, and they still had nothing.

Mrs. Smith passed out permission slips to people who wanted them before starting class. Carl and Hoodsey eyed Blake, while holding their hands in the air. He eventually raised his hand too.  
"He's going," Carl said excitedly to Hoodsey out of the corner of his mouth. He was glancing at him again when the object of his focus looked straight at him, holding his head a little higher before looking away.  
"That was weird..." Hoodsey said mildly, before being reprimanded by Mrs. Smith for talking in class.  
"Seriously," Carl muttered, putting his hands together and giving Ms. Smith a smile as she glanced at the desk they shared.  
"We don't know if he's going yet, do we though?"  
"Rats." Carl sunk in his seat when Mrs. Smith's eyes landed on him.  
"You two are a disruption in my classroom, and I can't stand it any longer! I'm going to need to separate you."  
Carl groaned as he was assigned to be Blake's deskpartner. Too much Blake for one school day.  
At least the period ended in twenty minutes.  
Twenty minutes beside Blake.  
Ugh.  
Hoodsey propped his head in his hands at the desk he no longer shared with Carl, watching the clock.  
Carl did much the same thing, feeling uncomfortable as he listened to the breathing of the boy beside him.

After what seemed like a silent eternity, the bell rang and Carl ripped out of the classroom, which caused him to have to be called back to be reprimanded again by Mrs. Smith. He glared at Blake for no particular reason when he was leaving the classroom, although it didn't do much since Blake was carefully avoiding his eye. Carl rolled his eyes and re-entered the classroom.  
Mrs. Smith towered above Carl, who hadn't grown much since elementary school. All of the boys in his class were taller than he was, with the exception of Hoodsey and Blake. Her skirt went down to her rather large knees, and the ugly puce jacket she wore was over her shoulders, as always.  
"Do you realize how dangerous it is to you and others when you tear out of the door like that?"  
"Yes, ma'am," Carl recited dully, prepared for a lecture about the many dangers of running out a doorway.  
"You could have knocked a desk over on the way out, or crashed into someone in here or out in the hall; you could have hit your head on the doorframe or stabbed yourself with a pencil if you were to fall. You could have...."  
Carl tuned her out, nodding here and there.  
"And, do you realize that I know you're not listening?"  
He nodded absently and she purposely dropped her textbook on the floor in front of him, causing him to jump a foot into the air and pay attention. Mrs. Smith gave a rough smile.  
"Look, I used to act like you do, and it got me absolutely nowhere. You _are_ a good student, but if you want to make a future for yourself, you need to show it. Okay?"  
Carl nodded, and left when Mrs. Smith waved him out.

Hoodsey was waiting for him in the hallway.  
"What'd she say?"  
"Something about getting nowhere from being like me. Whatever."  
"Ahh," Hoodsey said, nodding, then watching Ginger, Dodie, and Macie leave the Science room, laughing nonstop about something Macie had said. Carl laughed as he noticed that Hoodsey had locked eyes with Macie for a second, and lost all grip on reality when she smiled at him. He figured his friend was probably bouncing off of pink and red hearts in laalaa land. For once he let him go at it, thinking about his ex-girlfriend Noelle Sussman. They'd been together right up until the moment she'd moved away again–apparently back to Portugal to live with her uncle–and hadn't written to him in the six months she'd been gone.  
Since then, Macie and Hoodsey had gone to one or two dances together, not anonymously, which Dodie had been overjoyed at, informing them that if they ever got married, Macie and she would not only be best friends, but related.  
Why couldn't Carl find a girlfriend then, if his best friend could?  
Grumbling, he finally poked Hoodsey with his elbow. Now in a bad mood, he walked home with Hoodsey, not saying a word. Until–  
"What's your problem?"  
Carl looked over at his half-concerned, half-annoyed best friend and murmured about girls being stupid. Hoodsey just rolled his eyes and kept walking.

"But _Mom_," Ginger was whining when Carl moodily passed through the kitchen to get some popsicles to take back to the doghouse, "the dance is in a week, and I haven't got anything to wear!"  
"You have plenty to wear, Ging," Mrs. Foutley replied in an equal whine, trying to make her daughter understand how annoying it was.  
"But..."  
"Hey, no buts. Why don't you dig that nice blue floral dress out of your closet and wear that? You haven't worn it in ages." She drained the water out of the spaghetti.  
"I wore it to the Christmas dance, Mom, don't you remember?"  
"I don't see what's wrong with wearing it again, you look really nice in it. Besides, who would remember what you wore to the winter ball? That was three months ago!"  
Ginger, having no further angle of complaint, stomped off to her room. "Don't go too far, I'm almost done with dinner!" She rounded on Carl, noticing a trail of mud through the kitchen. "Carl! There's a doormat out there for a reason!"  
"Sorry Momster," he replied, digging two popsicles out of the freezer. "Important meeting in the doghouse. I'll come back for dinner later."  
"You will eat with the rest of your family!" She yelled after him, splatting the spaghetti on three plates. He'd already left the kitchen.

"Carl, can you remind me why we're still trying to figure this out? Why not just give up and surprise them with nothing, for once?"  
"Because Blake deserves punishment," he said shortly, trying to balance his popsicle on one finger.  
"For what?"  
Carl took a moment to consider this question. In all honesty, he had no idea what Blake had done to deserve an April Fools' Day prank to embarrass him in front of the school.  
But still....  
"Who cares?"  
"Carl," Hoodsey finally said, after thinking for a minute, "It's not Blake's fault that Noelle left, you know? Her uncle was sick. It's time to move on, you know? Don't put so much energy into hating people."  
"I never said I hated Noelle...." Carl muttered. _But I guess I felt it._  
"I kind of meant Blake," Hoodsey said, putting down his popsicle stick, preparing for Carl to start ranting on about reasons why Blake sucked, or a snarl about knowing when to put a sock in it.  
"Oh."  
Hoodsey wondered if he should continue pursuing the topic he was on. He knew it would either make Carl angry or freak out.  
"But you know, they kind of say hate and love are the same thing...."  
Carl stared at him. "Who are you referring to...?"  
"You decide," Hoodsey replied. There was a knock on the doghouse. Carl didn't respond, still staring at his best friend as if he'd grown an extra head.  
"What're you...."  
"Carl!"  
Ginger's voice pierced the chalky atmosphere, and both boys nervously acknowledged their visitor.  
"Hoodsey, your mom just called and she wants you back home now. Carl, Mom wants you to wash up for dinner."  
"Seeya Carl," Hoodsey said shakily, before leaving. Carl left in the other direction, towards the kitchen door, following Ginger.

What was that supposed to mean?


	2. Oh, hello there!

*Bounces* Hello everyone!

I know, I took forever and a day (well, a month and a week) to update. That's actually better than for some of my other stuff, actually. I haven't worked on A War of Two Kinds (HP slash) in months, as well as Switched (also HP slash). Hopefully, with two more weeks of winter break left, though, I can work on them more! Whee! Anyway, wrong genre.

I'm not sure if this chapter is better or worse than the last one. I have a lot of problems with staying in character, and writing Blake's dialogue is just _hard_... Pennsylvanians generally don't know much about what and how the Brits speak, lmao.... Anywho. Tell me what you think after reading!

A big thank you to my reviewers!!

**Bella12** - You really think I'm staying in-character? O.o Wheee, that's good to know, hehe.

**Blue Midnight** - Wheeeee you reviewed my story! I read Playing the Matchmaker ages ago and I... think... I reviewed... *sweatdrop* It was awesome! Ahh! *Coughs* Woot!

**Fedishi** - This soon enough? ^^" You reminded me about this story, lol... thanks!

Here we go!

.~*~.

Dinner, normally filled with either one of the three family members talking about their day, was unusually silent.  
Sure, Ginger, Carl, and Lois Foutley talked a little. But it was only things like, "Could you pass the butter?" Both children were wrapped up in their thoughts, and their mother wondered what on earth could be so important to keep them entirely stuck on it.  
The meal was shortened when Ginger asked to me excused, then left for her room, and then Carl disappeared to his doghouse.  
"It's possible they're just trying to escape doing the dishes." Mrs. Foutley grunted as she cleared the table. 

"What did Hoodsey _mean_?" Carl asked Maude's gallstone. "Hate and love are entirely different...."  
His eyes fell on Blake's tonsils. "Did he mean Blake?"  
He shuddered. "Me, like _him_? No, he meant Noelle. Right? Right?"  
Shaking his head, he regarded the tonsils coldly. "I hate you, Blake."  
Then he choked, because Hoodsey had said that love and hate were the same thing. And he might be right.  
"What am I thinking? I can say I hate Blake all I want. Because they're two different things, love and hate. Really. I hate him. Hate hate hate hate. Yeah, that feels good," Carl muttered, spinning his chair away from the pickled body part. _I must be going crazy, I'm talking to myself_....  
_It's probably because I_ hate _Blake_.

Saturday morning came and went, Carl too busy trying to come up with wonderful pranks to play on Blake and too angry at Hoodsey for suggesting that he might have feeling for Blake to let his best friend join him. So he was frustrated and getting nowhere.  
He decided to take a walk and ended up on the outskirts of Protected Pines, having not realized where he was going or how far he'd gone. He stopped walking and just stared up at the huge, perfectly built houses with large lawns and swimming pools. And he cursed his bad luck when a familiar black limousine rolled up to the corner he was standing on and stopped.  
"What do you want, Blake?" Carl spat, as soon as the back window had opened up and Blake had opened his mouth to make some stupid remark.  
"Never mind, Winston, he obviously doesn't wish to have a ride back to his house," Blake told the driver with a cold edge on his voice. Carl froze.  
"You want to drive me back home?" he asked, gulping dryly. "In a limousine?"  
"I _did_," Blake answered bitingly. It took almost all of his concentration for Carl to not wring his hands nervously. Hoodsey's confusing statement rang in his head, pushing the thoughts of hating Blake back and forth....  
_'But you know, they kind of say hate and love are the same thing....' 'Who are you refering to?' 'You decide.'_  
"Er."  
Blake was watching him impatiently, waiting for him to respond with some hot-headed retaliation. But he didn't, no matter how much he wanted to. Carl's frustration and anger at both the Gripling and his best friend drained out of him, leaving him feeling very small.  
"Well?"  
"Uh... you have any plans of reconsidering?" He asked with a voice he hoped sounded cool and not shaky. "It's an awfully long walk...."  
After his eyes ceased nearly popping out of his head, Blake shrugged. "Of course. We were going that way anyway, weren't we, Winston?"  
The driver blinked. "We were?"  
Blake ignored him, hopping out of the limo and holding the door open for Carl, who raised an eyebrow and didn't move. "Why not just make me get in myself?"  
"It's impolite," the blonde boy responded with a new impatience. Carl crawled into the... very large... car, followed by Blake, who then offered him hot chocolate.  
"Why are you being so nice to me?" He asked, accepting the mug and hoping that they wouldn't run over any bumps and cause him to spill it.  
"Why not?" was the answer. Carl thought about that for a second or two.  
"I don't know, I thought you had the impression that I hated you," he said, some of his frustration coming back. His own moodiness was really getting on his nerves. There was no response.  
"Sometimes I hate you but sometimes I wonder why I would. I mean, it's not like you're constantly getting on my nerves or anything," Carl continued, talking to the statue next to him that was staring out the window. "Rather, you should hate me. That's why I wonder why you're always so polite. Why?"  
"Why not?" Blake repeated.  
"Oh, come off it. Why?"  
The car stopped smoothly. "We're here. Nice talking to you. Bye."  
Carl got out of the door on his side after a moment of hesitation, then cursed his moodiness again. Why was he suddenly feeling sorry for Blake?  
Why was he suddenly always thinking of the boy?  
"Later."  
The limousine drove off, making a U-turn and leaving Sheltered Shrubs.  
"Going this way, right. You confuse me, Blake."

He turned and ran into Hoodsey, causing both of them to fall over.  
"Carl! I was looking for you, I didn't know where you went... were you just in the limo with Blake Gripling?"  
"Um... yeah. Why were you looking for me?"  
"I wanted to apologize for yesterday in the doghouse, I don't know what I was thinking, I shouldn't have..."  
"You made me think. About him."  
"Sorry," his friend said, wringing his hands. His hood had fallen down and one of his shoes was untied.  
"Nah, that's okay. But I really don't understand him. He's really... I dunno... he's nice to me. He didn't used to be. So why is he now?"  
His friend was silent, tagging along to the doghouse.  
"You going to say anything or not?"  
"Sorry, I was just thinking. Um... maybe he likes you." Hoodsey said in a really quiet squeak. He seemed afraid to freak Carl out again.  
Carl unclicked the doghouse lock. "Sorry, didn't catch that. What?"  
"I said maybe he likes you."  
He blinked, and tilted his head. "Hey, that'd explain a lot, actually."  
Hoodsey unscrewed his face. "You're not mad at me? You're not freaking out?"  
"Should I?"  
His friend gave a sigh of relief. "If you don't mind, no."  
Carl laughed. "Hmm."  
"Do you like him? Because, um, if you did, not saying that you do or anything, of course, but if you did, I'd totally be alright with it," Hoodsey said awkwardly.  
"I dunno. Up until this morning, I thought I hated him."  
"Well, yeah, I guess so."  
They gradually stopped talking about Blake and more about other things. They avoided the topic of the dance, or of playing an April Fools' prank on Blake. So passed Saturday.

"_You're_ going to the dance?" Ginger whined at the breakfast table the next morning when Carl asked their mom to sign his permission form. "With who?"  
"Who knows?" he responded in his unique laid-back manner. He stretched and ate some cereal.  
"It's on April _Fools'_ Day. What prank are you going to play? I know you and Hoodsey are planning something, and I better not be a part of it."  
Ginger had been a lot moodier since she'd broken up with Darren. As a matter of fact, since Noelle had left, Carl had been moodier too.  
"Actually, we don't know yet. Any ideas?" he asked jokingly. He didn't feel like arguing with his sister right now.  
She ignored his joke and grumpily glared at her empty cereal bowl.  
"Hey, if you want cereal, you need to get it, Ging," called their mom from somewhere near the fridge. Ginger sunk onto her arms, looking like she was going to fall asleep on the table. Carl shook his head and left the room to watch some cartoons.

Ginger had reminded him about the fact that April Fools' Day was in five days.  
_Doesn't mean I can't play a prank on Blake if I like him_, Carl thought, smirking. _I wonder if I like him_. He thought about the irony of himself being convinced that he hated Blake, only twenty-four hours ago. _Hoodsey must've been right_. _Hate and love could be the same thing, I guess_.  
_I wonder if Blake would take me home again if I reappeared in Protected Pines_.  
_Doubt it_.  
There was a knock at the door, and Ginger opened the door to see Dodie and Macie. Two seconds after she'd closed it and had started jabbering to her friends excitedly, there was more knocking, and Hoodsey came in, presumably having followed Dodie.  
"Hey, Hoods," Carl said, waving for him to sit on the couch too. When Hoodsey had done this, Carl said, in a much quieter voice, "I think I do like him. I thought about it, and, um, he is kind of... uh... cute?"  
Hoodsey looked ready to laugh at the last part of Carl's statement, so Carl continued rambling so he wouldn't.  
"Anyway, we need to think of a prank!"  
His friend stopped smirking and blinked. "You're going to play a prank on Blake anyway?"  
"Why not?" he asked, grinning. "Anyway, I need your help to come up with something. Something _good_. Any ideas?"  
"Um, Carl," Hoodsey said, changing the channel of the TV, "haven't I been doing that for the past few days?"  
"True," Carl replied, tilting his head. "Hmm."  
After numerous clicking noises followed by snatches of conversation, Hoodsey turned of the TV. "Nothing good on this morning," he muttered, yawning.  
"Uh huh." Silence followed. The boys sat on the couch facing the blank television, not speaking, causing a few funny looks in their direction by Ginger and her two friends before they went upstairs.  
Hoodsey cleared his throat. "Have any snacks?"  
Carl jumped over the back of the couch and opened the fridge. "Help yourself."  
The morning and afternoon followed quickly as they poured over several old alien movies that Hoodsey had found in his attic. He was called home for dinner and Carl only remembered that the dance was only in five days when he was already lying in bed, eyes shut.

"Carl, get up!"  
Said boy's mother tossed his pillow to the foot of the bed, so Carl would have to sit up to reach it. He sat up and stretched, rubbing his eyes. His mother was already heading downstairs. He could smell pancakes.  
"Pancakes?" he asked his mother as he jumped down the last few steps of the stairway, changed into school clothing.  
"Not for anyone who oversleeps," Lois told him, nodding at the clock as she put the syrup away. Carl grumbled as he poured cereal for himself, eating quickly and stuffing papers in his bookbag for school. He made sure to put the permission slip in last so he would remember to take it to class instead of leaving it in his locker.  
Hoodsey met him in the hallway of Lucky Jr. High as he made his way to the lockers. "They're taking permission forms in the office. I gave them mine already."  
"Wanna take mine?" Carl gave him little time to protest before stuffing the paper into his hand. "Um, sure," Hoodsey replied, heading off the way Carl had come.

"I see you're going to the dance, Woodsey," Blake Gripling commented, stopping in front of him. Hoodsey had always been intimidated by the kid, even if he tried as hard as he could not to show it. His best friend seemed pretty fearless, he wished he could be more like him at times like these.  
"Nah, this is Carl's," he answered, walking around Blake. "And it's _Hoodsey_, Gripling."

Lunch came. Lunch went. Hoodsey seemed intent on finishing homework all afternoon, so Carl did his own, glancing at his friend's work every few seconds to copy the answers. And then Hoodsey and Dodie left early at their mother's request. Carl sat in the doghouse for a while before he decided to take another walk, and ended up at the park, sitting on a bench, watching a few pigeons hop around a little kid who kept tossing bits of a bagel to them, other children playing around in a sandbox, new parents who tried to read but glanced over their newspaper or novel every few seconds to check on their toddlers. It gave him a weird, sentimental feeling he could describe as dusty.  
He was stretching and preparing to go home when he thought he saw it... a flamingo. It appeared at the top of the hill, first a head, then a long neck and body, and finally even longer legs. And beside it....  
"Noelle?"  
She had noticed him too and grinned, waving. Then they were standing in front of each other, and neither had any idea of what to say.  
"I missed you," Noelle said finally.  
Carl was preparing to say, "if you missed me so much, why didn't you call," but decided against it when he saw Blake walking from the other direction.  
The moment their eyes met they each glanced elsewhere; Blake, at the lake, red from the setting sun, and Carl, at Noelle.  
"I missed you too," he told her awkwardly.  
And before he knew it he was being kissed, and his back stiffened, eyes wide. Noelle pulled back almost immediately, and Carl's eyes briefly wandered to Blake, who was walking past, seemingly unaffected. He wasn't sure whether he had wanted Blake to appear to care or not.  
"Something wrong?" Noelle asked him, head tilted to the side in question.  
"Something _wrong_?" Carl exploded. "Yes, I think something _is_ wrong, Sussman! You left me here six _months_ ago, promising to write, promising to call, promising you'd be back in a week or so. And I didn't get _one_ letter, I didn't get _one_ call."  
Noelle had slumped her shoulders. "Carl, I–"  
"I'm not done yet." He took a step back so he wasn't yelling right in her face anymore. "You know how worried I was for the first few months? Why didn't you call me?"  
"Because I thought you mi–"  
"Might get mad at you? So you just shrugged it off?"  
She nodded. Carl shook his head. "Sorry. Just... I don't like you as much anymore."  
"Ah." Noelle crossed her arms, giving him a searching look. "I see, you like someone else."  
Carl had a fleeting suspicion the girl could read minds. Well, that certainly wasn't a good thing. His eyes flickered over her shoulder again, and they saw that the Gripling boy had settled on a bench within hearing distance. Great.  
Noelle had an eyebrow cocked, and Carl gulped. He tried to send her thought bubbles not to say that he liked Blake here. She smirked in challenge. It was amazing how quickly she could go from being on the bottom of this conversation to being in control of it.  
"Well, since you like–"  
"Please, not here!" he hissed to her, carefully making sure not to eye Blake right at that moment.  
"I'll have you know that all the time I was in Portugal, I didn't bother looking at other _guys_ because I knew I liked you more than them, and I thought that you thought the same of me."  
Ouch. He didn't only not like how the comment hit home and made him feel guilty, but he was uncomfortable with her slight accent on the word 'guys.'  
"Well sorry, Noelle, but you still coulda called." It was lame, but it was a retaliation.  
"Right." She flipped her hair over her shoulder, and he saw that she had grown it long while in Portugal. "Whatever, Carl." She left, her flamingo padding along beside her. Carl sunk back down on the bench and looked over at Blake, sending him a glare when he saw that the boy was also looking at him.  
Eventually Blake left, keeping to the opposite side of the path when passing Carl, and this was when the Foutley realized it was well past dinnertime, and his mother would be seething when he showed up.  
He stayed on the bench anyway, stretching up and looking at the moon. He'd go home later.


	3. Undecided

*Hides face in shame* I'm so sorry I didn't update! I've been so preoccupied with Switched that - well, you know how things are.

I'm hoping Blake's dialogue in this chapter is alright. I'm still iffy about his high-strung way of speaking. ;)

A big thank you to my reviewers!!

**Fedishi** - Thanks. :)

**Neon rose** - Okay! Sorry for taking so long!

**J** - Thanks. :)

**Moonlight Knight** - Thanks. :D

.~*~.

Chapter 3 

"Grounded!"  
Carl had come home at eight, having stumbled there in the darkness. He was too tired to reply. Not tired from the walk, just emotions.  
"I almost _called the police_, Carl. I went out looking for you, all through Sheltered Shrubs. _Do you realize how worried Ging and I were about you?_"  
He couldn't help but snort. Ginger had more important things to care about than him going missing, he was sure.  
"Don't get smart with me," Lois told him, then seemed to deflate in a sigh. "You're not going anywhere else this week."  
That caught his attention. "Except the dance," he added.  
"You're not going, Carl. I want you to understand that you are not to do this to me, ok?"  
_No, not okay!_ he screamed in his head. Outwardly, he frowned.  
_The dance isn't that big a deal anyway..._ he tried to reassure himself. _It's not like I'm going with some nice girl or anything...._  
He dragged his feet up the stairs to his room. He winced, thinking of Blake. _It might explain a lot of things if he liked you, but it doesn't mean he does._ It was true, Carl knew, but it was still an unwanted thought at the moment.  
And Noelle. What was up with her? She'd developed more odd powers in Portugal or something? He smiled wryly at the thought that a year ago he would have liked her even more if she could read minds then. Or maybe she could all along, just never let on.  
He fell onto his bed and looked up at the ceiling, covered in marks from things Hoodsey and he had stuck up there, like wads of bubblegum for their collection. There seemed to be a spill on the ceiling, from when his friend had claimed, several months prior, that he had defied gravity and dropped a cup of hot chocolate upwards.  
He rolled over and squinted at the calendar, not having bothered to turn the light on. Was it possible to prank Blake without going anywhere? Maybe he could call him and hang up, but he had a feeling that Winston would pick up instead of Blake, and they probably had call-back. He squirmed. In any case, it seemed like a girly thing to do, call up your crush and not say anything, like what Ginger had done once in a game of truth or dare. He'd heard about it from Hoodsey, who had heard from Macie, who'd heard from Ginger. News came to him in chains nowadays. He was often at the end of the chain, the last to know.  
He still had Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday to come up with ideas for pranks.

Carl was already up when Lois came upstairs to check on him. In fact, he was already dressed, and had a backpack at his feet, filled with books. He was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth.  
"Carl–"  
"Iswakn," he said, through a mouth full of toothpaste.  
"What?" Lois crossed her arms, frowning at him.  
"Iswakntsool!" He spat out the toothpaste. "I'm walking. I'm leaving now."  
Lois was shocked, to say the least. The school was a good seven or ten minutes away in their old car, but walking it was nearly half an hour.  
"Don't you want breakfast?" she asked, as she tailed her son through the kitchen, still utterly confused. He grabbed a roll from the basket on the table and was out the door. He took a bite, winced from the taste of bread and toothpaste, and threw the remainder to a neighbor's dog.

He knew the path to school. He'd used to get up really early and accompany Hoodsey there when they were kicked off the bus in elementary school. The walk seemed considerably longer without his friend, even if he wasn't digging in garbage cans every five steps.  
He passed the slight slope that eventually went up into Protected Pines, going straight past without a spared glance. Carl wasn't going to give into his curiosity about whether or not Blake had left yet. He tried to convince himself that he didn't want to end up riding in the limo with Blake Gripling, squirming as he tried to keep a reasonable but not suggestibly large gap between them. Tried to convince himself that he was falling for the Gripling boy too hard and too fast.  
Sure enough, the white limo passed him, and then slowed. Carl grinded his teeth as he kept up his steady pace, falling into speed with the limo.  
The window rolled down and Courtney stuck her head out. "Need a ride? Surely it's tiring to walk all the way from your neighborhood to school?"  
"I used to do this every day," he responded, teeth still anchored.

Then the unthinkable happened.  
"Winston, could you stop the limo? I'm going to walk with him."  
That did it; Carl froze, eyes squeezed shut. The boy's clumsy courting was getting on his nerves. He didn't want to put up with him for another twenty minutes, especially when the boy had not only witnessed his fight with Noelle, but would certainly overhear that he was grounded.  
"Why are you doing this?" he asked as the limousine took off again.  
"You looked lonely," he answered with a shrug. He watched Carl intently for a response.  
"And since when have you been my company of choice?"  
"I saw you with Sussman yesterday," he said, ignoring his previous comment completely.  
Carl growled. "What, going to laugh at me? I can assure you that I am perfectly alright without women."  
He wanted to eat his words as soon as they came out of his mouth. He wasn't gay, damnit! Now the other boy might think he was.

"...I see. So you are not planning on going with her to the dance?" Curious eyes tried to hide the fact that the boy was hunting for answers. Answers to anything. Answers that might mean Carl had some minute chance of taking to him.  
"Going with my ex-girlfriend who I've just fought with is among my top priorities, I assure you," he said sarcastically. He really didn't mean to be taking out all of his anger on the boy, but if it weren't for Blake, he wouldn't have gotten so mad at Noelle in the first place. "Anyway, I'm grounded and won't be going."  
"I thought you were always grounded."  
This caught Carl's attention. He whipped his head around to glare at the boy, but he'd already sped up the sidewalk, laughing. Then he'd stopped and waited for Carl to catch up, still dancing out of his reach, walking backwards.

There was silence for a little while. Blake fell into step beside him, and Carl walked at sporadic speeds, trying to get the boy to walk either a little in front of or behind him. Of course, Blake could soon guess when he was going to do this, so it really made no point.  
"So, what're you going to do on April first?" he asked amiably.  
"I've been trying to figure out what to do to you all week," he said, glancing sideways at his walking companion. "I haven't started the rest of my planning yet."  
Blake's expression hadn't flickered. "I'm looking forward to outsmarting your attempts at pranks then, Foutley."  
"You do that. If you can."  
"I'm not stupid," the Gripling said with another shrug.  
"But you _are_ younger than me. By two and a half years," Carl said smugly. The boy looked away from him, at the street, and he couldn't read his expression.  
"I bet you think that makes you superior, doesn't it?"  
Carl blinked. That's not what he'd meant at all. He opened his mouth again, but Blake was already talking.

"Everyone always goes back to the fact that I'm ten and in seventh grade. I don't see why anyone thinks that's so important. I think just like you do."  
"_Nah_, you can't think like Carl Foutley!" Carl tried with a fake brightness. He didn't like how Blake was avoiding his eyes with everything he did.  
"I guess not."  
"Mmm."  
"Well, I guess I won't be going to that dance either," Blake said, changing the subject but still looking ahead intently. "Won't be nearly as exciting without you there. It's not like I have a date, I'm three years younger than everyone else."  
Carl did feel bad for the boy, but he was still not liking how Blake was completely dancing around the fact that he liked him. He wished he'd either drop it or come right out and admit it to himself.  
"Nah, you shouldn't miss the spring dance just because I'm not there," Carl said carefully, kicking a stone. "I mean, there might be someone who likes you who's there and wants you to go. Or maybe someone you like will be there."  
He knew it was a shameless way to find out if Blake liked him, but it was an assurance. He could figure out what to do about it later.  
Lucky Jr. High appeared, the very top of the building becoming visible over the hill. They were about ten minutes early. No one else was outside yet.

"No," Blake said firmly, glancing over at Carl for the first time.  
Carl grinned. There it was, proof.  
"What's so funny?"  
"Oh, just that I know who you like," Carl said, meeting Blake's eyes. He froze, a blush creeping over his cheeks, then sped toward the front of the building, muttering something about checking if the doors were unlocked yet.  
Maybe he shouldn't have come right out and said it. Maybe he should've subtly hinted it, or added in a might or an 'I think.' But instead he'd said it like he knew the exact answer. He was fairly certain he did.  
He leaned against a brick wall, stomach really wishing for the roll he'd thrown to the dog. He tried to decide if he liked Blake as much as Blake seemed to like him, but couldn't answer it.

First bell rang. There were three bells–first bell indicated when the doors were unlocked, second when students could go to classes, and third when they had to be in their first class by to avoid a tardy slip. He sent Blake a flash of a grin as he went to his locker, smirking in just the slightest way when the boy pretended to be very interested in a poster beside him.  
Other students were starting to come in, and he met Hoodsey in the hall as his friend was going to his locker.  
"You walked? Without me?"  
"Gripling kept me company," he told his friend, grinning. "But don't worry, you're still my best friend." Hoodsey looked relieved.

The last bell chimed and students immediately flooded out of Lucky Jr. High, to buses and cars and down the sidewalk. Carl decided to walk back home. It would give him some time to think.  
Blake had avoided him all day. In many ways this was good, it gave him space.  
He decided to come right out and ask himself.  
"Do I like him?"  
"You're still trying to decide?"  
He whipped his head around, wincing as it cricked. But there, following him, was Noelle.  
"Noelle."  
"Carl."  
There was silence, and Carl targeted his frustrations into a dandelion growing in a crack. He stomped on it, smooshing it to the ground.  
"You know you like him, you just don't want to admit it, Carl."  
"What, you suddenly have no problem with me turning gay in your absence?"  
"I didn't say that," she told him, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "But I can get used to it. Now I'm free to date again, it's a bit exciting, I have to admit."

Carl gave a small smile and tilted his head, watching the sidewalk ahead. "I just don't know. I mean, what, is everyone going to be accepting if we were to, say, openly date? It's a little scary. Once you've made that label, you're stuck with it the rest of your life."  
"Hoodsey and I would be accepting. Your mother would. Ginger and her friends would be too, I'm sure."  
Carl snorted.  
"I mean, what're you going to do otherwise? You both like each other."  
"Hey! I'm undecided."  
"Uh huh."  
Noelle was stepping on every sidewalk crack as she walked. Weird kid, he had to admit. That had been what he'd liked most about her when they'd been dating. Her weirdness. Since fifth grade, she and her ways had grown up a bit.

"But wouldn't it be cute if you kissed him at the dance?"  
He jumped. They'd been walking quietly down the hill leading to Sheltered Shrubs for about seven minutes, neither saying a word.  
"I think it would be a stupid idea, especially in the middle of the dance floor. Oh. And I'm not going. I'm grounded."  
"Why?"  
The question was innocent enough, but he knew she knew the answer. He kept his jaw clenched.  
"Carl!" Hoodsey caught up to them at the corner of the block which the Foutley residence was on. "Your mom's mad, I think you might want to stay in the doghouse a while."  
"This is where I leave you boys." Noelle bowed and crossed the street.

"She help you figure stuff out?"  
Carl eyed his friend, an eyebrow raised. "Yes, but how would you know?"  
"I asked her to."  
"Yeah, I like him."  
"Alright."  
And the boys stayed in the doghouse until Hoodsey was called back to his house for dinner.


	4. The Dance!

Aaaaah, took me too long to get this out! But hey, last chapter folks! It's _long_! Hope you like!

A big thank you to my reviewers!!

**neon rose** - thank you!

**penny** - :D Ok!

..

Chapter 4

"I give up."  
It was still a nippy Wednesday afternoon, but Carl and Hoodsey sat on the porch doing their English homework. Hoodsey stopped picking at his purple jacket and glanced over at Carl's paper.  
"It is kinda hard–"  
Carl nodded. "I mean, I don't want to, like, like him on the first because he might think I'm pranking him, but it's the dance and I want to do something...."  
"Oh. I thought you meant homework. Uh... I thought you couldn't go to the dance?"  
"Well you thought wrong, Hoods," he replied, swinging his legs up onto the side railing and lying back, hands behind his head. "I figure I can outsmart Momster by blaring some music in my room and locking the door, and sneak out my window to the dance. Ginger does it all the time and hasn't gotten caught yet. By the time to CD runs out I'll already be at the dance."  
The Bishop watched his friend's paper flutter to the ground, then looked back up at Carl. "You're just going to get in more trouble when your mom tells you to go to bed and you're not there."  
"Oh well, I'll deal with it later."

Hoodsey sighed. He recalled some of their previous stunts that had landed them in trouble. Stealing another eyeball from the hospital had nearly made Lois lose her job, and they had had to do community service, just like Ginger and her friends. Making an invincibility potion with instructions from a book had also screwed up big time when they'd used some poisonous berries–"but I thought they were mulberries!" Carl had claimed–and made a dozen of their classmates sick before someone official had intervened. They'd gotten another hundred hours of community service for that one.  
But when he looked at it from this perspective, they'd really done nothing of that sort for almost a year. They were well into seventh grade, would be going into eighth. Ginger was going to start tenth grade in a few months. Lois and Dr. Dave had divorced nearly six months ago for family issues; he thought Lois was taking it rather well. The thing they'd been so afraid of several years before was happening. They were maturing, losing their childish innocence. "Oh, they're just stupid kids," didn't work anymore. Maybe the stupid part, but they weren't really all that immature anymore. They just tended to pick the wrong decision once in a while.  
Thus, one bad decision could topple them into more trouble than they'd gotten into before. Surely, going to the dance wouldn't be as big a deal as the things they'd done in the past, right?

"Where are you going?"  
Carl glanced at the doorway as he finished assembling his fire escape ladder and threw it out his window. Unlike his sister, currently residing in his doorway, he didn't have any lattice to climb up and down on.  
"A walk." He stamped the floor lightly, looking out the window again.  
"Another one of those? Where've you been going?"  
"Confidential," he shot back, leaning out the window and looking down. _Crap_, he noticed. _The edge of the ladder is visible in the living room window_.  
"Carl." She shut the door and walked up to join him by the window. "You don't want to get in trouble again, do you? You know how much Mom worries about us since she divorced Dave. She's going to go nuts on you if you sneak out again, especially after doing it before."  
"Oh well. Look. I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm testing this ladder so that I can use it with no problems tomorrow."  
"_Ooooh_," Ginger cooed, suddenly grinning. "Meeting a special someone tomorrow at the dance?"  
"You could say that."  
"Who?"  
"None of your beeswax."

"Oh come on," Ginger said, fiddling with a loose strand of hair. She'd done something to make it less curly, Carl noticed. It was almost completely straight, with a few kinks left here and there. "If you tell me who she is, I'll let you go out of my room, and I'll cover for you. Come on, no lies."  
Carl clenched his teeth. This opportunity was too good to miss. But strike out once and Ginger would tip off their mom. Obviously he couldn't say Noelle–it wasn't the type of information he would keep classified–but he couldn't come out and say the truth either.  
"Erh... Polly."  
"Who?" Ginger's eyebrows went in separate directions, one up and one down. The end affect was a raised eyebrow.  
"Polly Shuster. She's in my class. Acts like a bird."  
He was getting a really odd feeling in his stomach. He'd had a brief relationship with Polly during Noelle's absence. It wasn't anything he'd care to repeat.  
"Uh... right, Carl. I'm supposed to believe that?"  
_Oh no, she knows I'm lying_. "Hey, I'm attracted to weirdness, sis."  
"Ah. Whatever, Carl. You can use my window." She looked a little disappointed.  
"Thanks Ging!" He happily closed Ginger out of his bedroom, then fell onto his bed. "I'm just one day away from the most confusing day of my life," he informed his calendar, reaching up enough to cross out the last day of the month.

"Carl! Up!"  
"Uggh..." A roll in the wrong direction. A thump.  
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Ginger said from the door, unbuttoning her smiley pajama top on her way to the bathroom. "Don't want to be bruised in the head for... eh... Polly." She stopped and gave him an odd look. "Wait. Wasn't that the girl that you–"  
He shut the door in her face.  
"Carl! I said _UP_!"  
A groan.  
"Carl!" Lois peered around the door. "What's taking you?"  
"I don't feel very good," Carl mumbled, rolling over again.

Lois left him in bed, and apparently let him sleep, because by the time he woke up it was past noon, and school would be out in less than an hour. Rubbing his eyes, Carl sat up slowly, looking up at the calendar. The dance.  
He'd told Blake he wouldn't be there. Blake had said he wasn't going either. But maybe since Carl embarrassed him he would go anyway? It was hard to say. Blake didn't seem the type to play up to and challenge his own fears–he was more of the type that would avoid them at almost all costs. _But hey, you never know_. So what was he going to do? There wasn't much point in going if he hadn't bothered to think up an original prank for the entire group of people, and he had no time left. Going without a prank would cause him to lose face. And since the high school was invited, he wasn't looking forward to hanging out with Hoodsey, who would be watching Macie the entire time as she hung out with Andrew. The boy couldn't multi-task very well.  
Ginger apparently wasn't going. _She must still be sour about breaking up with Darren_, Carl concluded. Funny, just a few days ago she'd been whining about what to wear. _Girls are so odd_.

So what would he do? He had a feeling his sickness was partly due to late-night worrying about pranks to pull on Blake, and partly to nervousness. Carl's hands weakened and he fell backwards. He liked Blake. But there was no way he was gay. He liked Blake and he wasn't gay. It was like a phenomenon, really.  
Carl rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. Liking a boy kind of required being gay, or at least bisexual. He sighed, feeling a headache coming on.

Four o'clock. Walking students had come home from the Lucky School District by now. Of course, Blake Gripling wasn't a walker, though. Honestly, most of the Griplings felt transportation a must to go anywhere further than down the street. No chance of seeing him in a questionable neighborhood like Sheltered Shrubs, anyway.  
Seeing Blake. Carl hadn't seen hide nor hair of Blake on Wednesday or Thursday. The boy must've sat at the back of their classes together. He felt a little bit guilty. Certainly he should've realized that saying it right to Blake wouldn't be the best idea. Surely.  
And there were three hours until he would leave for the dance, trying his luck at catching Blake there anyway. He'd planned it all out, playing on his sickness; at seven-ten, ten minutes after the dance was to start, he would make sure Lois saw him going up to bed. He would lock his door from the outside, give Ginger his made-up story, and leave through her window. He would walk the thirty minutes to the dance with his bookbag, containing a flashlight for his trip home. If Blake shows, he would figure out some way to corner him in the hallway and talk to him; if not, he'd check in with Hoodsey and probably leave early.  
He glanced into a little mirror on his dresser. His clothing was all wrinkled. He'd have to change into something at least a little more formal; in the past he'd not been let into dances because he'd worn too casual of clothing. Hearing a thump next door and clueless as to what to wear, he figured that Ginger would probably love to help him find a good outfit.

"Ginger?"  
"Is that you, Carl? Be out in a minute!"  
Three seconds later, the door opened to Ginger, wearing a dress and with her hair up.  
"Uh. I thought you weren't going to the dance?" Carl quickly rethought his plan, and decided that whether Ginger was there or not, he'd likely still be able to get away with going.  
"Oh. Well, Ian stopped me in the hall earlier–"  
"Oh, that's good..." Carl said, to stop her from going on for five minutes about how much she and Ian are so perfect together. "I wanted to ask you if you have any idea what I should wear. I want to impress... eh... Polly, but I don't want to look overd–"  
"Of course, no problem," Ginger said, and led the way back to his room rather eagerly. In the past few months, Ginger had delighted in being Carl's fashion adviser. Almost too much, it seemed.

And within seven minutes, countless casual buttoned shirts and cardigans sat on his bed, with a single pair each of dark denim jeans and khaki pants.  
"Does Polly like classic styles or the darker type?" Ginger asked him, scratching her head.  
"Er... what?"  
Ginger grinned and picked up the khaki pants. "Here. You're wearing these. Put them on.  
"Yes sir!" Carl muttered under his breath, replacing his pajamas with the khakis as Ginger turned back to the shirts.  
Carl ended up with the khakis and a nice dress shirt that wasn't overly formal; Ginger, frowning at his sneakers, told him to wear his pair of brown leather shoes that he kept in his closet for everything except weddings and funerals. As soon as she left, he put them back in the closet when he cleaned up the rest of his clothes. He put his outfit inside his desk; out of sight, but accessible for when he came upstairs to go to bed.

During dinner, Carl pretended to have a stomach ache and a headache, but still took his baked potato up to his room where he devoured it hungrily, having had no meals earlier. Desperately hoping for free food at the dance, he took his plate back downstairs, putting on a pained face that was only half-fake.  
Next came the longest part of the evening; he needed to make sure he was with Lois for at least ten minutes after Ginger left. Thus, he went into the living room about five minutes before Ginger was to leave (Ian's older brother was taking them both in his car, apparently) and played up on his woefulness in front of his mother.  
Oh, yawning here and there, wincing, twitching, pretending to be sleepy and tippy from sickness was easy. Acting weird was his forte. But the waiting was the killer; he kept wondering if he'd have to do half an hour there and back in vain, if Blake wouldn't show up. And his mother seemed to keep wanting to send him up earlier than he could afford.  
Ginger finally left. Only ten more minutes of torture.

He wondered what he would do if Polly and Ginger met at the dance. Ginger had probably seen Polly once or twice in the three or so weeks that they tried dating earlier in the school year... he couldn't remember. Blake. What was he going to do about Blake?  
Ten minutes finally passed, and Carl had to measure his steps to keep from racing upstairs. He changed quickly and quietly, and only realized he didn't have a flashlight when he picked up his backpack and realized it wasn't in there. He didn't have time to change back into pajamas, and Lois would question his getting a flashlight when he was supposed to be asleep. Mentally cursing, he decided he'd deal with that when he had to walk home at nine. Or maybe Ginger would remember him and offer him a ride home with Ian and Ian's brother. Or maybe he'd leave when it was still light, but that was doubtful. At a quarter past seven, it was already getting dark. It would probably be almost black when he would get to Lucky High at seven forty-five.  
Locking his room and hiding the key in the bookcase in the hallway, he crept around the creaky spot in the floor to Ginger's room. It wasn't locked, thankfully, and the window was open. He carefully climbed down, and started his uphill hike to the high school.

The walk there made him impatient; he didn't want to run lest he sweat in his nice clothes, but he didn't want to walk as slow as he was. Carl stepped at a quick pace, but it felt as slow as if he were crawling there.  
He stopped at the intersection that led to Protected Pines, staring up at the neat rows of large houses on the mountain. Among them he could almost pick out the Gripling's house, but not quite. He wrenched his vision away and continued with a fresh determination that became giddy nervousness as he heard the fountain in front of his school and knew that there was one hill between him and the boy who kept finding his way back into Carl's mind.  
There was a large banner hanging in front of the high school with 'Lucky Jr. High and High Combined Spring Dance' in block letters surrounded by blobs which Carl supposed must be goats. He walked under it as he entered the brightly-lit high school.

A section of lockers past the cafeteria was roped off and dark; he stared into this dark area, trying and failing several times to regather his nerves, until finally the bored-looking senior in charge of admission asked him if he was going to go in or stand there the entire time.  
Music blasted in his ears even before the doors to the cafeteria were shut behind him, and he immediately saw Ginger, drinking punch and laughing at something a black-haired kid had just said. In another corner was Hoodsey, trying to fend off Polly, not paying attention as Macie and Andrew danced in the area without tables.

He was disappointed not to see Blake. What had he expected? He'd told the blonde that he wasn't going to come, and Blake had told him that he wasn't coming, either. But a part of him had hoped that maybe he would show up anyway. He wanted to see him. He didn't know what else. What the Gripling must be thinking... Carl had practically told him he knew that Blake liked him, and then the boy had avoided him for the life of him. He must've thought Carl was going to tease him because he was gay. Distracted, Carl realized his forehead was perspiring, and he slowly made his way through the masses to the punch bowl, looking around. He wanted to see Blake before Blake saw him and ran off.

The punch had no flavor whatsoever, and he tossed his cup in the trash, feeling very thirsty. He'd already eaten two cookies and needed something that would quench his thirst, not add to it. Glancing out the doors, he noticed that the senior had apparently joined in or had gone to the bathroom, and he snuck out in search of a water fountain.  
Carl's search led him to the roped-off area; ducking under, he turned a corner and started through a row of lockers, wondering at the sudden blackness, when his foot hit something.  
There was a muffled gasp as Carl tripped, and then a thump as he landed. He rolled over and grabbed at the first thing he felt, which happened to be someone's leg. And then he squeezed his eyes shut, because the voice that shakily asked, "who's there?" was very familiar and sounded like Blake had just been crying when Carl interrupted him.

"Blake?"  
"Oh no," the other boy said, losing his own balance as he tried to shake his foot loose, and landed on Carl with a wince, shoe flying off into the darkness. "Er." It was a rather awkward position, to say the least.  
"Blake, I–"  
"No, I realized just how stupid I was being, and then I thought–"  
"Blake–"  
"–And I just wanted to tell you that if you never bring it up I-I'll never mention," here Carl heard a sniff, "it again if you don't, I just–"  
"Blake, shut up for a second."  
Blake cut off his words in the middle of sentence, and Carl did the first thing that came to mind.  
"First, this." With a little effort, he rolled over so that Blake was under him, shifting so he wouldn't be squashed. "Next, I wanted to tell you that the reason I thought your crush on me was amusing because I'd just realized that I liked you too."

There was a very pained silence. "Blake?"  
"No, Foutley, I'm not going to let you trick me with something like this–"  
Carl remembered the date. "This is not an April fool, damnit," he told the boy that he was pinning to the ground. Biting his lip, he wondered whether he should kiss him now or what.  
"Uh huh. I'm not going to believe it, I just–I don't want you to hurt me like that, Foutley, I–get off of me!"  
"Why won't you believe–?" Carl asked. The question was punctuated by a punch to his shoulder that came out of nowhere. "Ooof!"  
"Because you hate me, Foutley, you told me yourself!" Another punch. "Get–off–of–"  
Carl chose this moment to lean in and try to find the Gripling's lips.  
The kiss pacified Blake, and his arms seemed to fall to the side and eventually end up somewhere around Carl's head, pulling him closer in rather mindless and clumsy passion. The only thing that registered in his head the entire time was that Blake was kissing him back....

Carl rolled off of the Gripling, wiping Blake's spit off of his lips with the back of his hand, turning to face where he could see the very faint outline of him in the dark. "So... er... what do we do now?"  
"Was... that wasn't... please don't say that that was just–"  
"Quit your worrying, I just chose a rather odd day to let you know I like you," Carl said, poking him. "Even I'm not cruel enough to kiss you as a prank on April Fool's Day. And I wouldn't swap spit with just anyone," he added as an afterthought.  
He felt Blake's body heat as the boy crept closer to him, to lean on his shoulder against the row of lockers. "What do you want to do now?"  
The sound of loud music and chatter in the distance brought Carl back to reality in a rather solid bump. "Actually, I want to get out of here and walk home with you," Carl said, shrugging. "I need to be home by the time Ginger gets home, since I... er... snuck out." He felt tear trails on the side of Blake's face. "Why were you crying?"

"Crying? Me?" A nervous laugh. "I wasn't–"  
"Uh huh. Really, why were you crying, Blake?"  
"Because I came here hoping to see you and not knowing what to do whether I did or didn't. I didn't want to see you because I thought you'd tell everyone about... well. And I wanted to see you because I wanted you to find me...."  
Carl pulled Blake closer in a half-hug, awkward from the way they were seated. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I didn't think you'd run away when I said I knew who you liked. I thought you'd give me time to explain," he grinned despite himself.  
"Let's start walking," Blake said, standing up and pulling Carl with him. "We can talk more on the way."  
"It's dark," Carl said, pulling Blake into another quicker kiss. "Are you sure you don't want to call Winston?"  
"Nah," Blake said, putting an arm around Carl. "So... er... are we boyfriends or something?"  
"We better be, I didn't go through all that for nothing," the other boy replied, grinning in the dark. "Come on, it's a long walk home."


End file.
